


i meant skies all empty aching blue

by ultraviolence



Series: blue is the colour of longing [2]
Category: Catalyst: A Rogue One Novel - James Luceno, Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Begging, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Clothing Kink, Cock Rings, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Leashes, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Lots of kissing, M/M, Power Dynamics, Praise Kink, Reunions, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 13:14:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11418702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultraviolence/pseuds/ultraviolence
Summary: Thrawn and Krennic, reuniting as adults and Imperial officers, in seven ficlets. Could be read as a standalone. Continuation of the Brentaal Futures Program AU. AU.





	i meant skies all empty aching blue

**Author's Note:**

> This is the more sinful counterpart to the first one, because the prompt is, you guessed it, seven heavenly virtues as sins. All the kind comments on the first one kept me going, so thank you for that! And without further ado, please enjoy this one!

" _I meant skies all empty aching blue. I meant years._  
_I meant all of them with you._ " _- **Kate Clanchy**_

* * *

**I. HUMILITY**

“Welcome aboard the ISD Chimaera, Director Krennic, Sir.” 

The freckled, fresh-faced officer greeted Krennic as he disembarked from his shuttle, a noticeable twang of a Wild Space accent trailing like mist vapour from a passing shuttle as he speaks. _Lieutenant Commander Vanto_. Krennic knows who he is immediately. He sized him up for a moment, dispensed a few formalities, and then the younger officer (and half of the welcome party) led him deeper into the belly of the beast, all part of the standard protocol of receiving a high-ranking officer on an Imperial vessel. An Imperial Star Destroyer, specifically.

The Chimaera was, by all means, an impressive ship.

“I hope everything goes well between you and him, Sir,” the Lieutenant Commander told him, in a voice and manner that clearly suggested for Krennic’s ears only (even if the rest of the party had been dismissed mid-journey, including his personal guards), seconds before the door to the war room opened. Krennic could barely muster any response— _does he told him…?_ —before he saluted, thus he had no choice but to dismiss him, and then he had to step forward to the yawning gap of the doorway.

He swallowed his breath, faltering only for a second before he stepped all the way through and the door slid close behind him. Inside, the mid-sized conference room was partially dark, lit only from the display illumination of the holo-artworks. Krennic suppressed a smile at the sight. _At least a part of him didn’t change_.

“Welcome aboard, Director,” a familiar voice greeted him from the partial darkness, noticeably older but remaining much the same as how he remembered it. Krennic stepped closer to the source of the voice, slowly, taking in the display that surrounded him, letting the faint illumination frame his face, the thin artificial light highlighting his white tunic and cloak.

“I’m sorry to have imposed on you on such a short notice, Admiral,” he responded, returning his professional greeting in a similar manner and tone. If this was how he’s going to play it, then Krennic could return the favour. He could see the other man now, in the center of it all, wearing the dark colour of the Navy uniform, glowing red eyes following his movements. There was silence as they regarded each other, assessing what the years they’d spent apart had done to the other person, the past trailing close behind like a hunter, silent and perfect, and the future sat between them, in the folds of their uniforms and the way they looked at each other, tense and waiting.

“So it’s really you,” Thrawn said, softly, breaking the silence, looking up at him. “All these years and you’re finally here in person.”

“I-“ Krennic started, returning his gaze, voice breaking, the mask that he’d forged and wielded so well all these years— _without him_ —cracking—“I should have done this sooner. But it- it had been so long and I’m-“

“Not sure if I still harbour the same feelings towards you?”

“Among other things, yes.”

Thrawn shuts off the display, the room erupting into light around them. He favoured him with a slight smile.

“I think it wouldn’t be a stretch now to say that I still do.”

The kiss that followed—he’s not sure who started it—was just as Krennic remembered it, and suddenly everything was right again. Suddenly all the years, all the decades, all the nights he’d spent without him fell away, and they were just two boys again, giddy with love and drunk with stolen kisses.

“You have an impressive ship now,” Krennic told him afterwards, trying to suppress a smile and failing. “No wonder you’d prefer to spend time aboard it then at the Ball.”

“It is a good ship,” Thrawn conceded, pulling him closer, landing a lazy kiss on his lips. They could never get enough of each other—Krennic could remember their lazy afternoons, coffee dates, and sleepless nights back then when they were still students together in the Futures Program—and now they’d fallen back into old rhythms, their endless hunger for each other further inflamed by all the years they’d spent apart. “But it’s not that impressive.”

“Liar,” Krennic teased, fingers curled on the fabric of his dark tunic, ruining his otherwise perfectly pressed uniform. “You’re always the humble one, aren’t you?”

“And you have no sense of humility whatsoever.” Thrawn countered, calmly, his own fingers landing on the clasps of his cape, a splash of colour on the white fabric. “You should stay. I want to get this ridiculous thing off you.”

Krennic gave him a long, lingering kiss, then, and for a moment they were back on Brentaal again, in his room, the night outside the door but they were safe, together, never apart from the other for too long. It was such a vivid impression that, when they finally—very much unwillingly—pulled away to catch their breath, he was startled to see the starkness of the other man’s war room, although the sensation of his arms around him was still the same as he remembered it. This close, he realised, he could notice the small changes in the other, incremental things that escaped his first glance. His slicked back hair. His countenance, now considerably more mature and confident. Small stress lines on his face that a stranger probably won’t notice.

But other things hasn’t changed. His eyes, for example, still conveyed the same expression—the same warmth—that Krennic remembered whenever Thrawn was looking at him. Krennic wondered, then, absent-mindedly, what the other sees when he’s looking at him now.

At least now he was certain about one thing, the thing that mattered most, and that gave him strength to move forward.

“And I want to get to know you again,” he finally told him, heart drumming faster inside his chest, deciding that whatever it was, it doesn’t matter. Not so long as he wanted him here, and in his life, too. Not so long as he loved him still, even after all these years, after all the uncertainty and the separation and the fears. It was a mistake not to approach Thrawn sooner, now Krennic realised, when he first heard about the rumours, then the stories of a Chiss rising through the ranks of the Imperial Navy, because it turns out his fears and insecurities turns out to be exactly just that, fears and insecurities.

He loved him still, and their story has yet to reach its end. 

“It would be my pleasure,” Thrawn inclines his head slightly, another smile playing on the corner of his lips. “Although in my opinion, it might be that you never left at all.”

“Flatterer,” Krennic snorted, giving him a playful flick on the chest. “Lead the way.”

“Welcome home,” Thrawn said, uncharacteristically warm, and Krennic knows he means it. “I’ve missed you, Orson.”

 

**II. KINDNESS**

Thrawn discovered, to his delight, that the dynamics between them in bed was still as fluid, and Orson was still just as experimental. Neither of them is very fond of adhering to rules—something that immediately made him felt a strange yet strong kinship with the other, back during the days when they were just boys, just friends, just students—and that innovative attitude, for the most part, extended to their bedroom activities. Orson created beautiful things, beautiful, _functional_ things, and right now, kneeling in front of him with Thrawn’s length in his mouth, a leash dangling from the collar around his neck, he was precisely that.

The sensation of his mouth on his hard cock was still as exquisite as ever, and he was even better now after all these years—years he’d spent gathering experience in the sexual realm as well as other things, Thrawn had no doubt—it wasn’t long before the newly-promoted Grand Admiral felt himself on the brink, and he tugged on Krennic’s leash instinctively, pulling him forward, making the other take himself deeper in his mouth. He sucked, obediently, diligently, and Thrawn felt his cock twitch, seeing white spots before the wave finally came over him and he thrust his hips forward, one hand gripping the other man’s leash, while the other gripped his shoulder, keeping him in position. He came, then, sputtering in all three languages, feeling Orson’s tongue on his length, lapping it all up, helping him reach completion. When he was finally spent, he slumped back on his command chair, throat dry from the noises of pleasures that he’d made and the encouragements he’d given the other man.

He let his grip on Orson’s leash slackened, letting him pull back and swallow his seed. 

“You’ve performed satisfactorily,” he told him, after a brief silence, pulling him forward again, fingers caressing his face. “I think I’ll reward you.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Krennic responded, voice hoarse, still kneeling at Thrawn’s feet, wearing only his leather gloves and cape. “You’re very kind.”

Thrawn smiled, a sincere one. “And you’ve been magnificent. Beautiful,” he added, letting his boot-clad leg stray to caress Krennic’s naked thigh. “And I love you.”

 

**III. PATIENCE**

“How are you staying calm? We're under _attack_!”

They were in Thrawn’s private command room, Krennic pacing nervously, Thrawn seated on his command chair while Eli— _Commander Vanto_ —nervously stood at attention after delivering his report. There are readings on the holo-displays all around them, replacing the elegant, airy Bespinian artworks that Thrawn had been showing him a moment earlier. _A moment earlier_. It seems like a lifetime ago to Krennic, and he grinds his teeth in frustration, knowing that he had little to no authority here. 

He was here on an official visit, formally, although of course there was more to be said about that. Unlike their days as students back in the Republic’s Futures Program, they cannot afford to be forthright about the true nature of their relationship, due to the Imperial Military’s strict no fraternisation rule amongst its officers, even if Krennic knows better about the actual implementation of it. After all, before their reunion, he had been playing the field, and sometimes with slightly less care than someone of his stature should have had. Thrawn was considerably better at keeping up the friendly professional charade—to the entire Imperial Military and indeed the Empire, they are simply old friends and fellow High Command officers—although he had his moments of weakness.

From the way he is looking at Krennic now—head tilted up slightly, a thoughtful crease on his forehead—these are one of those moments.

“Calm down, Director,” he said, trying to pacify Krennic, shifting restlessly in his chair. Krennic could feel Eli’s eyes on them, shifting from Thrawn to him and then back again to the Grand Admiral. “We have this battle under control,” he paused, and Krennic stopped pacing for a moment to meet his gaze, “unless you have a suggestion?”

Krennic visibly glower, although not at Thrawn, not _precisely_ —him and his unnaturally calm demeanour be damned, he thought—and Eli shrunk, intimidated, but not yet dismissed.

“Perhaps you should try a more direct line of approach,” he suggested, after a moment of thoughtful silence, “ _Sir_.”

Something brewed underneath Thrawn’s collected, controlled countenance, a growing amusement, and, Krennic knows that the joke’s not entirely lost on him. He was suppressing something like laughter, and he turned to Eli.

“Return to the bridge, Commander. Continue monitoring the situation and report directly to me. I will issue my orders from here,” he told the young Commander, ever the perfect Admiral, “dismissed.”

The younger officer saluted both of them and left. Only after his footsteps have faded away that Thrawn turned to face him.

“The direct approach would only put more of our ships in the line of fire. It’s time-consuming and not cost-effective. But more to the point,” he swivelled to face Krennic, “you never stopped being cheeky, don’t you, Orson?”

Krennic grinned, his anger evaporating. “Well, I need to get you worked up one way or another, and that seems to do the trick quite well.”

“You seem to find my patience insufferable,” Thrawn muttered, beckoning him to come closer. “Have you seen the therapist I’ve recommended you to? You _do_ need to overcome your anger issues.”

Krennic’s expression darkened, but he came closer anyway, letting himself being pulled down for a lingering kiss. “Now that’s just _offensive_ ,” he complained, kissing him some more, “I _don’t_ have anger issues. I _don’t_ have a temper. I’m just fine.”

As he leaned down to kiss him again, two TIE fighters went past, visible from the viewport near them, in pursuit of an X-Wing. The ship shook, barely noticeable, but both of them felt it.

“And it seems like I’m right,” Krennic added, with only just the barest hint of smugness, “they’re heading this way. They must be gearing for the sublight drive.”

Thrawn sighed concededly, pulling him in for a rougher, sloppier kiss. “And that’s why I love you.”

 

**IV. DILIGENCE**

It was one stressful meeting, Thrawn had to give it that. The regular High Command assemblage that was held every six months was rarely as intimidating as the name might suggest to an unseasoned officer, and it was mostly filled with grandstanding and petty personal rivalries, competing pet projects and proxy wars. He disdained the thing entirely, considering it a gross waste of the Empire’s resources and an unwise use of time by some of its supposedly best officers. The summons usually only extended to those considered relevant in some manner to the current war effort against the Rebellion, or to those whose career was rising, but seeing that he’d been promoted to Grand Admiral a while ago—the first nonhuman to do so, and the first Navy officer to do so in the history of the Emperor’s New Order, too, in fact—he now could expect to be a regular in such meetings.

Orson was there, too—Thrawn wasn’t completely obvious to petty gossip, especially amongst his peers in the Imperial High Command, and so far he could hazard that the consensus about the Director was that he was somewhat controversial and everyone is divided on his ability to manage a project as massive and top-secret as Project Stardust—and Thrawn’s own opinion regarding the wastefulness of his project—the _Emperor’s_ pet project, he thought—aside, he was perhaps the only good thing about the two-hour meeting. He always had such a way with words, and Thrawn could see that by the end of his brief presentation at least half of the officers in the room was convinced that this is _the_ way to end the war, and that _he_ was the one to take charge of it entirely when it becomes armed and operational, whether they realise it or not. 

His mind, inevitably, although only for a moment, went back to last night. It really wasn’t that easy to sneak around conducting secret meetings, especially since one of them happens to be the Grand Admiral of the Imperial Navy, and the other happens to be the Director of a top-secret project under Imperial Intelligence, but somehow, they managed it, and not only a meeting, but Thrawn had actually managed to spend the night in Krennic’s private quarters aboard the Death Star. He’d woken up with Orson’s fingers in his hair and his other arm looped around him, and he remembered thinking that he wouldn’t mind waking up to this for the rest of his life.

When the meeting was adjourned, he wasn’t really surprised to find an encrypted message from Orson in his datapad. He let the rest of the room shuffled out before him, Krennic amongst them, talking animatedly with a certain dark-haired General. Weapons stuff, Thrawn assumed.

It wasn’t hard to find the meeting place. Krennic had shown him the blueprint the night before. 

“You’re late,” came out the familiar voice. The bathroom was dimly lit, and Thrawn quietly closed the door behind him, locking in the combination that they’d discussed the night before.

The other man was already there, leaning against the wall at the far end of the not-so-spacious room, cigarette dangling from his mouth.

“I thought you were busy talking with General Veers,” Thrawn told him, accepting the cigarette that Orson offered him, letting him lighting it for him, “let me hazard a guess. He was asking about the weapons development for the new model of AT-AT?”

“That model wasn’t scheduled to be released until next year,” Krennic responded, scowling slightly. “If the research funding doesn’t get cut _again_.”

“Forgive me to cut this work talk short, but-“ Thrawn landed a kiss on his jaw, feeling his free hand clench the fabric of his uniform tunic as the other man pulled him close for a proper kiss, his tongue finding Thrawn’s mouth and pleasantly distracting Thrawn from the stress that that unreasonably long meeting (or at least it felt so) had managed to induce in him. “I missed you a lot,” he told Krennic, after they had stopped communicating with their tongues inside each other’s mouth. “And I don’t think we have much time.”

“I certainly don’t,” Orson told him, grumbling a little, already stubbing his cigarette and with amazing agility had already started undoing Thrawn’s tunic. Thrawn took the cue and did the same with his own cigarette. “I have to report back to Tarkin in precisely an hour. He wanted reports after every meeting like this one,” he added, sneering as he did so at the name of the man who seemed to despise him just as much as Krennic despised him, but Thrawn cut it off with a kiss on his neck. “Do more like that.”

Thrawn obliged, in a moment already busy kissing his neck, his own fingers working at Orson’s tunic, the other man’s body pressing close against his, a pleasant, warm sensation that Thrawn couldn’t get enough of.

“Then I suppose we better make haste,” he said in-between the kisses, a moan escaping his lips as Krennic’s fingers reached between his thighs. “You looked gorgeous today,”

“And you’re still in the habit of flattering me, always,” Krennic shot back, his lips finding Thrawn’s. “Not that I’m complaining. Consider this a reward for your diligence today.”

“Not at all a bad reward,” Thrawn replied, favouring him with a slight smile, taking off the other man’s tunic. “In fact, I could get used to it.”

 

**V. CHARITY**

Krennic’s summon had come earlier that day—or what passes as day aboard the Death Star, it’s been quite a while since he was planetside—not from Thrawn’s own direct, securely encrypted line, but from the more commonly-used channel. The holo showed a trooper, requesting his presence in the hangar, alone. When Krennic pressed her for more details, she simply told him that it had come from a superior officer. 

In the hangar, he had found a very much civilian, nondescript shuttle in the far corner, and when the landing ramp was lowered, Thrawn was the one standing there, asking him to come aboard. They made the jump to hyperspace soon after, after being cleared by Flight Control (must be something important, Krennic thought, and Thrawn must be squeezing every bit of his rank privilege, since one does not simply borrow a superior officer from their posting, especially not from the Death Star, and especially not when the superweapon is very nearing its completion), and, despite Krennic’s role as the other man’s copilot—because there was no one else on board except for both of them, not a single escort trooper or personal guard, and there was no room for anyone else, either, in the cramped shuttle, built for speed rather than comfort—the final destination was being kept a secret from him. He could see the jump points and their projected trajectory, but the system was vague about the planet or the system they were headed to—if they were heading towards any certain system at all—and despite Krennic’s proficiency with designing weapons and buildings and everything in-between, he was never much of an expert slicer.

None of it was very comforting, and he was very much worried about the prospects of Rebels and pirates and everything that wasn’t quite any of those—not very privately either, since he expressed it out loud at some point during their journey—but out of all the people and beings in the galaxy, Krennic trusted Thrawn. Well. The only one he’d ever trusted, or something close to that. It was an expensive and decidedly rather mythological currency in the Empire, and he was never one to let anyone in lightly.

“Wake up,” his familiar voice wakes Krennic up, followed by a soft something pressed on his cheek, that Krennic soon identified as Thrawn’s lips. “We’re here, Orson.”

Halfway through the journey, the Grand Admiral had asked him to put aside his copiloting duties—something Krennic took up out of curiosity and perhaps a smattering of nostalgia of touching the piloting console, he hadn’t done much of this for a long time, rather than necessity because Thrawn had more than sufficient piloting skills for both of them—and get some rest, in the cramped bunk located in the back. “I want it to be a surprise,” he told him, smiling his half-moon smile, and Krennic had to oblige. He hadn’t gotten much rest nowadays, and whatever Thrawn was up to…it should be something big.

Something big, and pleasant. Krennic woke up to the Chiss bending over him where he was asleep on the cramped bunk bed, one hand braced on the side of his head, the other threaded through Krennic’s hair, pushing aside stray locks of it. 

“I think I missed the landing,” Krennic managed, trying to wave the sleepiness away, the smooth cool of Thrawn’s hand brushing his hair, his lips touching his cheek, closer to Krennic’s lips this time. “I _told_ you to wake me up for the landing.”

He tried to scowl, but cannot quite muster the indignance necessary, so it came out as something ridiculous and still wrapped with sleepiness around the edge, and Thrawn laughed, a cool, collected sound. He touched Krennic’s lips with his, kissing him softly, and Krennic didn’t protest. 

“There’s spare clothing in the locker there,” he said, gesturing towards the locker sitting not far from them, and Krennic noticed then that he’d changed into something more civilian and decidedly less flashy than the whites of his duty uniform. “Feel free to get changed. I’ll meet you in the landing ramp in 5,” he bends forward and kisses Krennic again on the lips, a more lingering one, and Krennic never wanted it to end, feeling a flash of disappointment as the other pulled away and straightened himself up, always the perfect warrior. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve had your necessary personal effects delivered ahead of us. If you don’t like my choice of clothing, you can always opt to change it again inside. We’re going to stay here for a couple of days,” he added, holding Krennic’s gaze, who was fully awake now. “I thought I’d let you know.”

A list of questions appeared and ran through Krennic’s mind, a dozen rabbits going down a dozen different holes, but he forced them all away. He’ll hopefully have his answers soon enough. “You going to order me around too, now?” He pulled himself up to a sitting position, flashing the other man a teasing grin. 

A slight smile once more crossed Thrawn’s otherwise relatively unperturbed surface. “You seem to like me to.”

“Fine. I’ll see you in 5. Now get out before I decided to do something about that smile.”

“We’ve had all the time in the galaxy, Orson,” the Grand Admiral chided him gently, raising a blue-black eyebrow, already halfway on his way out. “But please don’t make me wait too long. I’ve waited for us to meet again for far too long already.”

It was something that sent a pang through Krennic’s heart, and with one final smile, Thrawn departed the room. 

Later, as he made his way towards the landing ramp in the aft of the ship—the soft fabric of civilian clothing felt odd against his skin, like something out of time, a throwback towards a gentler, more innocent time, if there was even such a time, all wars felt like the world—he found himself hurrying to meet the other man, his heart only calming down after he catch sight of him waiting in the ramp, as he said he would. Krennic smiled slightly as Thrawn turned towards him, a matching smile gracing his own expression. He stepped closer and gave him a quick peck on the lips. Thrawn was right: they have been waiting to meet each other again for far too long, and any time spent apart was…unbearable, a fictional universe in which they weren’t together.

“You look great,” Thrawn murmured, pulling back to appraise him, fingertips lingering on the fabric of his shirt. “Are you ready to see my surprise?”

“As ready as I ever was.”

“Then let’s go,” he said, softly, tilting his head slightly to a side, hesitant to let Krennic go. Krennic boldly laced his fingers with the other’s, and a surprised expression briefly crossed the Chiss’s face, before settling into pleasant approval. 

Fingers laced together, they made their way down the ramp, and into the planet beyond.

The countryside villa grounds that lies not far from where their ship had landed sprawled invitingly, a magnificent creature of a building, with the sort of muted grandeur that could only be the personal touches of the man standing beside him, fingers interlocked with his. Krennic was speechless, muted by both the grandness of the gesture, and the rich meaning behind it.

“I hope it’s to your liking,” Thrawn said, hovering behind him, voice as calm and smooth as always, but a hint of nervousness betrayed his true emotions.

“It’s perfect,” Krennic told him, a small smile playing on his lips, turning slightly to face the other. “Thank you.”

Thrawn pulled him in for a kiss, his hand settling on Krennic’s waist. “I thought I’d give you a little something to mark our anniversary. I was worried that you wouldn’t like it. But it is appropriate, is it not?”

“This is more than just a ‘ _little_ ’ something, baby,” Krennic retorted, chuckling, drawing away only to get a better look at the place, craning his head. “Either you have no sense of magnitude, or you’re extremely, magnificently charitable. I’d settle for the latter.” He kissed him again, never seem to get enough of him, even after all these years. “Thank you. Really.”

“Wait until you see the interior,” the Grand Admiral said, smiling that private smile of his, which means that his surprise isn’t quite over just yet. “I think it would be to your liking, and standards, of course. Allow me to give you a tour of the grounds.”

He extended a hand towards Krennic, inclining his head slightly. Krennic laughed, briefly, but took it. “You have my permission.”

To his surprise—and utter embarrassment—Thrawn swept him off his feet literally, although gently, tucking Krennic into his chest as if he was featherlight and still a boy, not an Imperial officer. Again with the bridal style. Krennic scowled at him, this time managed to infuse it with enough indignance and righteous annoyance.

“In some cultures, it is customary to carry one’s partner past the threshold, after obtaining a place together.” He said, before Krennic could say anything, and began walking towards the direction of the gates.

“You’ve never changed,” Krennic grumbled, settling down because he has to, heat colouring his cheeks. “You’re still really dumb sometimes, after all these years. And I still love you.”

Thrawn stopped mid-stride, only momentarily, leaning down to kiss him. Krennic spotted a tiny grin before he pulled away again and resuming his duty of carrying him past the threshold. “I love you too. You’re still my supernova.”

 

**VI. TEMPERANCE**

“This is…a rather pleasant surprise.”

Thrawn examined him, cool fingers tracing the exposed skin of his chest, and Krennic held his breath, once more imagining the summer sky back in his homeworld—a lifetime ago—blue the colour of yearning, of bargains and nostalgia and old lovers, when he touched him, fingertips mapping invisible lines on his body. It wasn’t an easy job, presenting and arranging himself like this, and he obviously had some help in form of one very enthusiastic young Commander with a Wild Space accent, but the subtle approval in Thrawn’s expression justified all the means Krennic had to utilise. 

“An understatement, don’t you think?” He arched an eyebrow, looking up at the other man. He likes what he sees, and the approval, however premature it may seem, means the galaxy to Krennic. “Not comparable to the villa, of course, but I’d say…it was more than that.”

Thrawn chuckled, giving him a cool, assessing glance, but Krennic could see something else boiling underneath his glowing red eyes— _want_ —and he could feel his heart beating faster, shifting his position slightly, so Thrawn could touch him more.

“Says who it wasn’t comparable to our villa?” He bends down to kiss Krennic on the lips, a soft prologue, and Krennic lapped it greedily. Thrawn draws back, fingers carefully prodding the artfully arranged ribbons covering the other man’s otherwise naked lower half. “You’ve presented to me a work of art, and all works of art are by nature and definition, priceless.”

“You _always_ know how to say these things,” Krennic says, straining up to steal a kiss from his lips—sloppy aim, landed on the corner of his lips instead, but Krennic was satisfied nonetheless—and felt his fingers carefully undo those ribbons still covering his cock. “Happy birthday.”

Thrawn kissed him again, full on the lips, his fingertips quickly prying the ribbons apart and fingering his prize. His wrists tied together with leather cuffs, topped by a matching ribbon to keep with the theme and forced above his head, Krennic can’t do anything to return his gesture, and arched his naked body instead towards the other man, the need for his touch swelling inside of him.

“We don’t celebrate birthdays in the Empire,” Thrawn still managed to say, even as he mounted the desk—his office’s desk, which Krennic had emptied beforehand—and straddled him, pinning him with his weight, with an iconic arch of his eyebrow. Krennic suppressed the desire to roll his eyes. “But I suppose we can make an exception tonight.”

He untied the ribbon covering his cuffs, but let the one wrapped around Krennic’s neck stay. “This is a very nice surprise indeed,” Thrawn remarked, one hand stroking the other’s hardening cock, smiling slightly when Krennic felt his finger found the small metal ring installed there, just pushed slightly down past the tip. “And another one? I am indeed a very lucky man. I have to wonder how you manage to do all of this, though.”

He gestured vaguely to the arrangement—the ribbons have all now been shed except for one, although they still congregate messily on Krennic’s thighs and legs—with a curious expression, but appraised him, too, at the same time. 

“I’m glad it’s to your liking, Sir,” Krennic replied, twisting so he could savour the other’s touch and better accommodate his needs. “I have had…a little help,” he could feel a small smile playing on the corner of his lips, and Thrawn fingered a stray ribbon, carefully plucking it out from Krennic’s thigh. “But I can assure you, I am still a man of many talents. And tonight, I’m fully yours.”

“But aren’t you always?” Thrawn simply retorted, pressing a rougher, more possessive kiss on Krennic’s lips, the stiffness of his pressed uniform rubbing against Krennic’s naked skin. Trapped between the hard, barely hospitable surface of the office desk, and the slight coolness of Thrawn’s body, he could only rub his body against his, returning his kiss greedily—that much, he was allowed, at least—straining against his restraints, feeling Thrawn’s fingers still on his cock, now hard, twisting the metal ring a little. Krennic’s body buckled involuntarily, a moan escaping his lips. “Temper yourself, now. And keep your bragging to a bare minimum. I _do_ have great plans for you tonight,” he said, lips finding Krennic’s neck, trailing kisses and eliciting a series of moans from the Director. 

“Thank you, Sir,” he managed to muster, heat rising to his cheeks, shifting his wrists. It’s getting easier, now, to settle down and suppress his own need to touch the other. “I will not fail you.” 

“And I’m sure you won’t, although you certainly owe me a proper explanation of this arrangement,” Thrawn murmured, hands trailing goosebumps on Krennic’s naked skin, biting his exposed throat lightly, enough to draw a louder moan from Krennic. His lips find his, again, and Krennic took the moment to rub his cock against Thrawn’s thigh, trying to get a little more friction. Thrawn draws back to favour him with a smile. “Not yet,” he told Krennic, stopping him with a hand pressed on his chest. 

“Yes, Sir,” Krennic draws back, chided, but obediently helped Thrawn set him in a better position, giving the other man access to his ass. “I have a feeling you know who it is.”

That elicited a short pause from the other man, although he doesn’t stop for long. “I still want to hear it from your own mouth.” He then slid his fingers in, teasing him. “But for now, I think we should focus on a more pressing matter at hand, don’t you think, Director?”

Thrawn’s tone brooked no argument, and Krennic murmured a noise of assent, struggling lightly against his restraints as he felt the other man’s fingers inside him. It wasn’t enough. He wanted more, and he’s willing to do anything to get it. He felt Thrawn’s fingers again, testing the playing field, and he moaned, the need rising to an almost unbearable urge. 

“Please, Sir,” he hazarded, although still a little guarded, but Thrawn twisted his fingers, fingering his ass deeper, and he can’t help it anymore. It was obvious what Thrawn was waiting for, of course, and Krennic felt a surge of fiery pride momentarily, although that was quickly being replaced by willing acquiescence. Thrawn was the one in charge tonight, and Krennic will give him what he wanted. He swallowed his pride, wanted nothing more now but Thrawn’s approval and pleasure, and, by extension, his cock inside him. Not even his own gratification, if that was even in the book at all. “Please…use me to your own pleasure. Fuck me, rim me, I don’t care. I want to please you.”

“Oh, I will, gladly,” Thrawn said, quirking a smile, undoing his own uniform. Krennic found himself holding his breath again, and from the way Thrawn draws back, it was obvious that he wanted Krennic to watch, as he slowly stripped off his tunic, exposing his fairly muscled arms. “I will gladly grant you one of those things, perhaps even more. You know I’m not one to waste my resources.”

“And I’m not one to disappoint,” Krennic countered with a flush, a vain effort to regain some measure of control, feeling the familiar combination of frustration and helplessness building up inside of him. He felt the press of the other’s erection, still obscured by his uniform trousers, and he bit his lip, the equally familiar sensation of desire coursing through him. Thrawn’s hand threaded lightly through his hair, combing it for a moment, a plateau of tenderness, before he forcefully pulled him closer by the hair, kissing him hard enough to bruise, teeth biting Krennic’s bottom lip, drawing a hiss from Krennic.

“Walk your talk, Director,” Thrawn warned, coolly, but with a hint of playfulness. He kissed him again, then, tenderly, ruffling his hair, much to Krennic’s surprise. A certain memory crossed his mind—from their Futures Program days, when they first started experimenting with power dynamics during sex—and Krennic can’t help but smile a little.

“At least I wasn’t doing a copious amount of research on the HoloNet before I did this.”

“Oh, be quiet, _you_ ,” Thrawn said, and tried to land another kiss on his lips, and they did kiss, for a fraction of a moment, before they both break into mutual laughter, Thrawn’s of the more subdued sort. As Thrawn pulled him in for a properly forceful kiss, Krennic still can’t help but snort, clearly breaking the role again but can’t quite help himself. “Be _quiet_ ,” Thrawn repeated, this time commandingly, but there was still a trace of mirth in his eyes, “or I’m going to have to gag you, too.”

Krennic let his lips veered down into the other’s neck, pressing small kisses there, feeling the other shudder. “I won’t mind. _Sir_. But I think you’re going to have to touch me now.”

“You don’t get to order _me_ around, Orson,” Thrawn grumbled, but obliged, his fingertips caressing Krennic’s inner thigh. “Especially not on my birthday.”

“Then happy birthday, again. I love you. Now can we please get on with this?”

That caught the other off-guard again, and he laughed again, a rare, subdued, but beautiful sound, and Krennic won’t trade it for anything in the galaxy. “Certainly. I love you too.”

**VII. CHASTITY**

The experience has never quite ceased to astound and awe Thrawn, even if they had done it a thousand million times already at this point, in various places and equally varying positions, treating it as carelessly as the two young students they once were, but with as much determination and sense of duty that only the Empire could have instilled in them. It is not so much the act itself as it was the emotions, the…immense sense of _wholeness_ he felt during the joining, and the wave of bliss that filled him after the climax.

It was more than art. More than being a part of something bigger than himself. It was something that Thrawn could have treated with something akin to religious reverence, and sometimes he wondered, idly, if Orson felt the same way.

It was also different, Thrawn realises. From the array of lovers—male, female and others—that he’d had the opportunity and honour to sample, none of them could match Orson in any way. It is not some objective quality of Orson, he discovered—not his physical beauty, that was certainly subjective because beauty is in the eye of the beholder although, he’d argue, that Krennic certainly transcended such subjective parameters, and also not his skill, long experience, nor his stamina either, which was, although a little above average especially for his age, not actually that outstanding—but more likely due to some inherent personal bias that Thrawn has cultivated, since Orson was, after all, his first lover, and the longest running one.

First lover, and first love.

“What are you thinking?” The other man’s voice breaks through the Grand Admiral’s reverie, and he stirred lightly, shifting to nuzzle closer to him. His face rested casually on the crook of Orson’s neck and the rest of their limbs tangled together in a mess of intersecting lines, blue sky and white clouds, he realised that despite the tiredness— _good_ tired—slowly seeping into his body, Thrawn’s task was far from over.

On the contrary, it had just begun. He favoured the other with a small smile as he draws himself back, appraising the other for the umpteenth time that night.

“Nothing and everything,” he told him with an iconic arch of his eyebrow. “You, in particular.”

“Is making me wait part of your grand master plan?”

“Oh, don’t be so sarcastic,” Thrawn chided him affectionately, landing a small kiss on his lips which Krennic lapped greedily. “I was getting to the good part. Have some patience.”

“Patience is overrated,” Krennic said, but whatever he was about to say next in defence of his overwhelming impatience was lost, as Thrawn’s fingers stroke his still-hard cock.

He’d reached completion, coming inside Orson earlier—not too long before this, certainly not as long as Orson thought—obviously not forgetting to prepare the other for the docking, and from experience (this is certainly not their first time having sex in his office, during the evening or otherwise, Thrawn’s birthday or not) he’d kept a small bottle of lube handy, in a hidden drawer of the very same desk they were now very casually resting on (and had sex on earlier). The very best part about Imperial furniture and design is that, like other things in the Empire, it was built not only to last, but also to withstand various kinds of possible trials. Thrawn feels like he was somehow an expert in this now, since he was secretly dating—and was just fucking—one of those esteemed architects, unsung heroes of the Empire.

It also helps that Krennic _did_ indeed help him install the hidden drawer. Thrawn bends down, bracing himself with his hands on either side of Orson’s hips, lips very casually trailing kisses from his lower stomach on to his inner thigh, eliciting a sea of not-so-casual moans from the other man. He savoured this—how Orson _feels_ —and more, including how his body buckled underneath the pleasure he’s giving him. Thrawn slowly moved to his cock, hard and ready and very much restrained, the small cock ring still installed there, keeping Krennic hard and very much unable to come, in more than one way, because his wrists were still cuffed together and forced above his head. 

“Now let me worship you,” he told the other, raising his head only ever so slightly to look at the other. His blue eyes wide and his body strained hard, it was obvious that he was awash in pleasure, rendered more sensitive to Thrawn’s touch by the restraints and the euphoric state he was in. Not waiting for his response, Thrawn lowered his head back again, first taking the tip into his mouth, testing the waters, and then more, feeling the cold metal of the ring against the roof of his mouth, tonguing it for a bit before taking his cock deeper into his mouth. He could feel Orson’s body shift and buckle as he started to suck it, and he divided his remaining concentration into gripping the other man’s hips, holding him in place. Still, he gave him a little room for movement, allowing Krennic to thrust his hips as he attempted to get more friction.

Soon, he was on the brink, exactly where Thrawn wanted him to be, and he pulled back, giving his cock one final kiss before that, trailing more kisses on his inner thigh. It was poor manner to kiss him on the mouth right after that, so Thrawn opted to kiss him on the jaw and nose instead, keeping him pinned down to the desk. 

“I think you’ve performed satisfactorily enough,” he said, kissing his forehead, “and I’m feeling generous tonight. It _is_ my birthday after all.”

“Are you going to reward me?” Krennic managed to muster—he was very much out of it and it wasn’t hard to tell that he was having a hard time forming words—voice hoarse, as Thrawn kissed him again, this time on the cheek, pushing aside a stray lock of hair. “Sir?”

“Yes, very much,” Thrawn said, smiling slightly at him, this beautiful man who’d easily become his life. “Consider it a personal thank-you for making my birthday a very special day indeed.”

“I’m glad I could be of service,” Krennic responded, a hint of a smile peeking through. Thrawn chuckled, kissed his neck, at this point already familiar with the terrain of his body—and his moods, to a more or less similar extent—but still marvelled at it—at _him_ —still can’t get enough. “But we don’t celebrate birthdays in the Empire, remember?”

It was the sort of insolence that he _thought_ he could get away with in the middle of this, and he indeed _did_ get away with. Because, Thrawn thought with a wry smile to himself, that’s part of what he loved about Orson. Still, he won’t let it slide so easily.

“I’m still in position to deny you what you want. Any other night, and I’d discipline you _properly_.”

“Please, Sir, not _that_ —“ 

Clearly, he meant it in some sort of a joking manner at first, but as Thrawn stroke and squeezed his cock lightly without warning, Krennic sputtered and moaned, the rest of whatever he was going to say lost again to the torrent of noises he made in the wake of Thrawn’s touch. 

“You think I’m joking, don’t you,” he said, dangerously calm, stopping for a moment to let Orson catch his breath. The other man was scowling now, cursing under his breath. It was all so very amusing, and Thrawn feel indisposed to a smile, but he controlled himself, letting the (mock) stoic expression stay.

“Please,” Krennic begged again, his desperate need slipping into his voice, “stop teasing me, Sir. I’ll be good. Wasn’t I good already? You said so yourself. I’ll do anything, Sir. _Anything_.”

It went better than expected, and even this time Thrawn couldn’t control his smile. Giving the other’s cock one last squeeze, he draws back his hand. “Good boy. I’ll see what I can do about your… _situation_. You’ve been in abstinence for too long for tonight, haven’t you?”

He stroked his cock this time, gently, watching the other man closely, knowing that he must be so close now, so dangerously close, yet still, unable to do so without Thrawn’s express permission and complicity in removing the restraining device. It was a mostly hypothetical question, of course, and as it stands, Orson was no longer in the state to answer, slowly sinking back into the appropriate headspace. Thrawn kisses him full on the mouth, one last time, savouring both his desperation and helplessness, and with one swift yet careful move, he removed the ring, letting it clatter to the side with the discarded ribbons, and immediately felt the other’s body arched up to meet his, frustration and desire combined. He pushed Krennic down, kissing him, feeling him obey, as his hand snaked into his cock, massaging it. 

“Come on my hand. You have my permission.”

Thrawn helped him reached his completion, his hand working on his erection, murmuring praises and encouragements when necessary, feeling Krennic’s body twist and turn and buckle underneath him, the noises escaping his lips taking on a more needier undertone as he slowly comes undone in Thrawn’s hand, all pride forgotten. 

In the aftermath, he cleans his hand and undoes Krennic’s cuffs—with a key that he found inside his topmost drawer, very old-fashioned, something that gains Orson even more points in Thrawn’s book—and let him pull him in into an embrace, once more nuzzling against him, the hardness of the desk’s surface forgotten. He liked this, too: the feeling of Orson’s arms around him, their bodies pressed close together.

“You _always_ make me wait,” Krennic groused, although jokingly, breaking the pleasant silence that wrapped them like a cocoon.

“You _are_ impatient,” Thrawn stated, fingers tracing circles on his naked stomach. “It’s hardly my fault if you refused to wait. Waiting sometimes will reap you greater rewards.”

“Is that what you think?” He said, shifting slightly. They should get cleaned up soon, Thrawn thought, especially Orson. “But I didn’t wait for you,” there was a pause, and Thrawn knows what he means. Not tonight. But all the years they’ve spent apart, the years of uncertainty, all the days and nights after the last night they’d spent together, after graduation. “Did you wait for me?”

There was some hesitance hidden underneath his voice, an underlying anxiety. Thrawn chose his words carefully, not because he was deliberately hiding something from Orson—Orson, who’d come to mean more than everything that ever mattered in his life, mattered more than his own life, even—but because he wanted to thread carefully. He, too, was afraid of losing him again.

“I did. For a certain amount of time,” he told him, calmly, feeling the other’s fingers threading his hair. They could have been anywhere else, not atop Thrawn’s desk in his office, entangled like they were one instead of two. Sometimes Thrawn wished that was the case. “Even after our attempts to stay in touch with each other failed. But…” he paused, not knowing how to say it now, “I stopped. I didn’t know if we’re going to meet again, if ever, in any case. It was a big galaxy, after all. And I’ve had duty, first to my people and then to the Empire.”

Thrawn pulled himself carefully up, planting a kiss on Krennic’s lips. “But you’re here with me now. And although the past is certainly useful to be studied for patterns, in this case, I don’t think it’d yield anything. You’re with me now, and that’s all that matters.”

“And the future?”

Thrawn smiled, sitting on the edge of the desk. He could feel it spread out before him, like a navigational chart, or the Holo-map of the galaxy. He let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“Is just beginning. We have each other. What more could you ask for?”

_What more indeed_ , he thought, later that night, in his quarters, with Krennic’s arms around him. And another thought, flitting faster— _I’d like to spend the rest of my days like this, with him_.

Not an entirely far-fetched thought. He fell asleep with the possibilities running around in his mind, their story, once more, only just beginning.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, and I definitely _absolutely_ apologise for all the cliches. And the misuse of Eli. I think if I've ever written a spin-off of this, it'd just be Eli complaining about the two obnoxious as*holes in his life and regretting, immensely, of his support of them. Anyway, comments  & suggestions are of course welcome! hmu at tumblr: orsonkraennic


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